


sometimes love isn't enough (i don't know why)

by sebbykurt



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, basically everything has gone to shit, damn i abuse these tags, fairly major character death, i'm upset this was really hard to write, mentions of blood and gore and a really tiny smidgen of abuse, really he's not trying to hurt him, self-loathing derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 11:43:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebbykurt/pseuds/sebbykurt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything seems somehow darker, even as sunlight filters in pathetically through the torn strips of the very same curtains that Stiles remembers carefully picking out with Scott and Isaac, rolling his eyes when Isaac took the patterns way too seriously and Scott only ever agreed wholeheartedly with whatever the other wolf wanted.  </p>
<p>And even though Derek is only sitting a few inches away from him, his head bowed and his fingers curled into tight fists, Stiles has never before felt so utterly alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sometimes love isn't enough (i don't know why)

**Author's Note:**

> This was honestly one of the hardest one-shots I have ever written. Super angsty, super sad, and super exhausting. I hope you all like it, especially if you're looking for a good cry;)

Derek’s loft is stupidly cold.  The chill even permeates through the thick cotton of his hoodie, forcing a shiver through his bloodstream that quivers all the way from the tips of his fingers to the slip of his mouth.

Everything seems somehow darker, even as sunlight filters in pathetically through the torn strips of the very same curtains that Stiles remembers carefully picking out with Scott and Isaac, rolling his eyes when Isaac took the patterns way too seriously and Scott only ever agreed wholeheartedly with whatever the other wolf wanted. 

And even though Derek is only sitting a few inches away from him, his head bowed and his fingers curled into tight fists, Stiles has never before felt so utterly alone. 

It feels ridiculously as if he’s been punched in the heart.

“Derek—“

“ _Don’t_ , Stiles.”

Looking down at his hands, Stiles inhales sharply at the sight of dried blood clogging the thin spaces between flesh and nail. 

The memory of Isaac’s dying whimpers cling to his body like wet newspaper, unfairly bright in the back of his mind.  Maybe even worse, the way Scott couldn’t seem to control his anger, smashing everything in sight and slashing his claws through whatever was in reach.  Allison had tried to comfort him, but had only gotten hurt in the process, and the thought of her sitting in the bed of a too-white hospital room with a smile that was so obviously fake in its forgiveness makes his stomach roll.

“ _Fuck it all_ ,” Scott had screamed, even as Derek fell to his knees and Lydia shed tears over the bleeding mess of Allison’s body.  “ _I’m gonna tear all of them to shreds!  Every single last **one** of them!”  _ The words still bounce against his skull, fragments of the rage that had been so shockingly out of Scott’s character.

Stiles is tired, he is sad, and he is afraid.  But he can’t even begin to imagine how Derek feels.

“Isaac wouldn’t want this from you, Derek,” Stiles whispers, playing almost nervously with the hem of his hoodie.  “Neither would Boyd or Erica, and I think you know that.”

Feeling falsely hopeful, Stiles turns to face the alpha, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

It falls immediately, though, when the only reaction he receives from Derek is a shuttering breath, his eyes obviously glassed over with tears.

Stiles isn’t thinking when he reaches out to rest his hand on the other man’s shoulder, so used to their touches by now that he doesn’t have the instinct for second thoughts about it anymore.  For however long it lasts, Stiles feels grounded, _safe_. 

Logically, he knows that whatever’s lurking around the corner can’t possibly be welcoming, and the chances of him coming out of this alive are a lot slimmer now that they’ve lost three wolves, but he doesn’t mind as much as long as he’s going with Derek.

With all that’s been between them, Stiles can’t possibly fathom how it is that Derek can’t be feeling the same.  The losses hurt, sure, and Stiles would be foolish to think that Derek wouldn’t change because of it, but that doesn’t have to mean the end of what’s between them, right?

…right?

His answer comes in the form of Derek grabbing his wrist and pinning it against the back of the couch, his eyes flashing red and the points of his teeth somehow looking even more dangerous than they ever have before.

Time seems to slow down, trickling abnormally slowly through the space between his body and Derek’s. 

His heart leaps in his throat, and he doesn’t even realize that he’s crying until he nearly chokes on the lump forming somewhere near his lungs. 

And then Derek’s claws are piercing through layers of fabric and skin, slamming his shoulders against the suddenly stiff back of the couch.  Stiles screams, although more with shock than pain.

Derek’s breath is hot in his face, smelling strongly of blood and metal, and Stiles hates himself a little for wondering if this is how Isaac felt right before Kali tore out his heart.

Small, weak, meaningless. 

A blip on the radar that was Derek Hale’s life. 

“I hate you,” Derek snarls.  His claws draw scars through Stiles’ flesh and the agony of it has the boy seeing stars.  “I hate you, I hate you, I _hate_ you.”

Somehow, Stiles knows that this is a lie; that Derek is only punishing himself for what he thinks are his faults.  But nobody could have saved Isaac, let alone Erica or Boyd.  Stiles had tried again and again to convince Derek that it wasn’t his fault, but the alpha was still intent on doing whatever it took to wash their blood from his hands.

“Y-you don’t,” Stiles stutters.  His voice is too loud for the silence pressing in around them. 

Derek grins, but the action is so bitter and flawed that it can’t be anything but _heartbroken_.  Stiles can almost hear Erica’s laugh like a ghost in the hallways, can almost see Boyd rolling his eyes at something she says, can almost feel the stifling tension between Isaac and Scott. 

And then there’s Cora, who is off somewhere with Peter, trying to chase down the alphas in Isaac’s honor.  It’s reckless, and yet another uncontrollable circumstance that Derek most likely hates himself for.

“You’re blaming yourself for all the wrong things,” Stiles wheezes, slamming his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to hide his tears, even as they slide down his cheeks.  “They didn’t die for _you_ Derek, you idiot—“

“ _Shut_ up.  _Shut up_.  You think you’re so smart, Stiles, you think you can read me like some sort of _video game manual_.  You think I _love you_ —“

“I _know_ you do.”  The confidence in his voice is almost uncomfortable, grating against the already strained nerves between them.  “What we have, Derek, it’s not something that just goes _away_.”

There’s a flash of something familiar in the man’s eyes, but it disappears before Stiles can identify it.  His head hurts and the blood trickling down his shoulders is starting to feel more sticky than warm. 

“You’re right,” Derek whispers.  His eyes fade from red to blue.  “It dies.”

The claws slip from Stiles’ skin, forcing a wince out of him.  In a span of mere seconds, Derek is off of him and standing across the room, his chest heaving like he’s just run a marathon. 

Stiles falls to his knees on the floor, body a victim to gravity as Derek pulls away from him.  He touches his left shoulder with a cry, pulling shaking fingers away to reveal thick, dripping blood.

“You have to go, Stiles.”  Derek’s body is almost completely hidden by the shadows of a dying day, but Stiles can still see his eyes.  “You’re not a part of this anymore.  If I ever see you here again, whether Peter or Cora invited you, I _will_ kill you.”

The words knock Stiles breathless.  Clumsily, he stumbles to his knees, feeling vaguely as if he’s leaving some part of him behind on the floorboards.  Which is ridiculous because bodies don’t fall apart, even if the person inside is crumbling to bits.  “B-but I…I l _ove_ you.”

“Get _out_ , Stiles.”

“ _Derek_ —“

“ ** _Out_**.”

It’s the final blow, the kill shot. 

Erica, Boyd, and Isaac are all dead.  Allison is sitting alone in some hospital, probably torn between crying her eyes out and grabbing her bow.  Lydia is probably curled up in a ball in her room, too afraid to sleep.  Cora and Peter are god knows where, hunting down enemies that have so far been impossible to exterminate.  Scott has lost his mind with rage, and will probably never look at Stiles the same way again.

And Derek…

Derek doesn’t love him anymore.

Slamming his eyes shut, he breathes out raggedly, tasting blood bloom across his tongue as he bites down hard enough to keep from erupting with tears.

“Fine,” he whispers.  “Fine.”

And, without looking behind him, Stiles slips out the front door, slamming it as hard behind him as he can muster. 

_Fine_.


End file.
